美国作家Cormac McCarthy去世了，看到了一个推引用了他小说中的一段话：
“They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether as is often the way with travelers approaching the end of a journey.”
这让我想起辛弃疾的词：
少年不识愁滋味，爱上层楼。爱上层楼，为赋新词强说愁。 而今识尽愁滋味，欲说还休。欲说还休，却道天凉好个秋！
岁月带来了似曾相识的沧桑感。
McCarthy还有写火的段落，比如在Blood Meridian:
“The flames sawed in the wind and the embers paled and deepened and paled and deepened like the bloodbeat of some living thing eviscerate upon the ground before them and they watched the fire which does contain within it something of men themselves inasmuch as they are less without it and are divided from their origins and are exiles. For each fire is all fires, and the first fire and the last ever to be.”
还有在The Road：
The good guys carry the fire; the bad guys don’t.
PS.
Paul Dirac said the following:
In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it’s the exact opposite.
PPS.
Some rant from David Chapman. This is a goldmine and read it and all replies around it. Here is the meaningness website.